


my love, your loving

by Kalgalen



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Alcohol, Canon Asexual Character, M/M, Sexual Content, discussion of asexuality, just a bit
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-01
Updated: 2020-06-07
Packaged: 2021-03-03 03:42:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,488
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24498142
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kalgalen/pseuds/Kalgalen
Summary: One-drink-Jon is an angry scholar, two-drinks-Jon likes to dance.And three-drinks-Jon - well, three-drinks-Jon is another animal entirely.
Relationships: Martin Blackwood/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist
Comments: 48
Kudos: 606





	1. my love, your loving

The thing Martin likes the most about finally dating Jon is getting to learn all the things Jon doesn't show to anyone else, that he usually stifles and hides around others. It's the softness on his face as he watches a cat video, or the nodding of his head as he listens to some music - or what he's like after a few drinks.

One-drink-Jon is an angry scholar. He knows many things, and has opinions about all of them. Martin had made his acquaintance back when they were simply colleagues; he'd found it endearing back then, and he finds it even more so now.

Two-drinks-Jon likes to dance. He usually has enough self-control left not to do so, instead sitting very still, his feet beating to the rhythm; but when it's only the two of them, he takes Martin's hand and drags him to wherever they have the space to move, and Martin's self-consciousness melts away as Jon pulls him against him, laughing.

And three-drinks-Jon - well, three-drinks-Jon is another animal entirely.

Martin finds out about it a Friday evening, as they celebrate the end of a particularly hard week. Everything that could go wrong has gone wrong. They've discovered mouse droppings in an unexplored corner of the archives, promising a lot of ruined documents and time wasted hunting down the creatures; a shelf has almost collapsed right on Jon, scattering files that had previously been painstakingly put in order; and, worst of all, Elias has announced the visit some time soon of a couple of the sponsors of the Institute. Martin hopes the Lukases won't be among them. That would be cherry on top of an already disastrous cake - those guys creep him out.

In any case - they've deserved a drink. Or two. Or three, even, because Jon is casually reaching toward the gin for the third time and pouring a generous portion into his glass. He makes a noise at Martin, gesturing with the bottle.

"Oh, no, thank you," Martin says, because he gets sappy when he drinks too much and doesn't want to inflict that on Jon quite yet. Jon shrugs, picks up his glass, and tucks himself against Martin.

The first hint of three-drinks-Jon gets is when Jon starts relaxing to the point it seems that he's trying to melt against Martin. His spectacles are askew over his nose as he rests his head against Martin's shoulder, and his almost-empty glass is dangerously tipping in his hand; they've stopped talking some time ago, simply enjoying each other's presence and warmth. Jon isn't moving either. Has he fallen asleep?

But when Martin shifts to take a look at his face, Jon makes a small noise of protest and nestles closer. His eyes are closed, though, and Martin asks:

"Are you sleepy?"

Jon hums, chuckles, but doesn't answer. Instead he nuzzles closer still, slotting his face against Martin's neck and slinging the arm still holding his drink across Martin's middle.

"We should go to bed if you're sleepy," Martin reiterates weakly, as if having Jon wrapped around him hasn't stopped his breathing for a few seconds. He carefully extracts the glass from Jon’s loose grip and stretches to set it on the table, before teasing: "You know the couch isn't good for your old bones."

"M'not old," Jon protests pleasantly.

"What is this, then?" Martin asks, running a hand in the grey strands at his partner's left temple.

"What? It never seemed to bother you before."

"Never said it did."

Jon lifts his head then; it takes a beat for him to focus on Martin's face, but then he smiles mushily.

"I love you."

The earnestness in his tone once again freezes Martin's breath in his lungs, and he impulsively kisses Jon's forehead. There's an echo, deep down, that insists he does not deserve it, that this can't last. Thankfully, the haze of the alcohol, as well as Jon's heat pressed against him, keep the voice at bay.

"I love you too," he answers, happy to hear that his voice doesn't waver as he says it. It takes all his might not to say it again, and again, and again, until it's the only thing in the world, but the words bounce around in his head: _I love you, I love you, I love you -_

As if he can hear his thoughts - or as if he's sharing them - Jon's smile grows ever fonder; with a deftness Martin wouldn't expect of his level of intoxication, Jon pushes himself up and kisses him.

Martin doesn't think he'll ever be able to rid himself of his initial reaction of freezing when he gets kissed. It's a reaction learned, imprinted in his being so deeply it remains his first reaction in this situation. But they have talked about it, back when they had established their boundaries and exposed their idiosyncrasies; Jon won't take it personally, and with that knowledge Martin is able to relax quickly. He chases after Jon when he pulls away.

Jon chuckles, sighs; he doesn't go far, immediately diving in the crook of Martin's neck, kissing the sensitive skin here. Martin feels a bit light-headed. He hasn't been used to so much physical contact from Jon, especially not something so - intimate. The kisses Jon peppers against his throat are hot and languid, and if Martin didn't know better he'd think they were the prelude to something a bit more involved.

...Does he? Know better? Jon sure seems serious about what he's started.

With difficulty, Martin peels Jon off of him; his partner lets out another sigh, this time a disappointed one.

"Wait, Jon -"

"Martin," Jon whines, and Martin's blood rushes to his face - among other places. Jon's lips are shiny, his eyes bright; he looks debauched. For a moment, Martin thinks about letting him do whatever he's set his mind to do - God knows he'd like nothing more. But the situation is quickly clearing Martin's mind of his inebriation, and he refuses to let anything happen that either of them would regret in the morning.

"D'you wanna have sex?" he blurts out, because still, he's not quite sober enough to figure out a delicate way to say it.

The expression of mild disgust that passes on Jon's face confirms what he was suspecting, and douses his desires instantly.

"What? No. No." A pause, during which he frowns, stares pensively in the distance. "No. I don't think so." Another beat, then in a breath, as suddenly as if he's just come to that realization himself: "Maybe."

"Maybe?" Martin repeats, trying not to let hope shine through in his tone.

Jon straightens his glasses, looking annoyed; he backs off further away and defensively closes his arms around himself.

"I don't know, Martin." The words are slightly slurred, but the glimmer of impatience in them is familiar and reassuring. "How do you know you want something you've never tried before?"

Martin clasps his hands on his lap to avoid reaching for Jon. "I guess - you don't? Unless you try it -"

"But what if I don't like it, though?" Jon cuts him off, a hint of distress in his voice. "What if I hate it and it ruins everything connected to it? I'm not talking about trying blue cheese here, Martin."

Martin takes a second to mourn the sudden disappearance of the comfortable atmosphere, then runs a hand through his hair. "Then don't. I don't mind that you're not into that sort of thing, you know it."

"And I love you for it," Jon says softly. "Not just for that, but it's - it sure is a good perk. But - I am curious, despite - everything." He gestures vaguely, grabs his glass on the coffee table. He makes a face when he smells it, and sets it back down. "It's easier when I'm... in that state. Less inhibitions, I suppose."

"I won't do anything to you while you're drunk," Martin says quickly, in case there was any doubt about it.

"Of course." Jon breaches the gap between them, lacing his fingers with Martin's. "I trust you."

There's a silence, tentatively comfortable. Martin hesitates to break it for a long time, then gathers up his courage and says:

"However, if you wanted to - try things - taking it slowly, obviously - I, uh. I mean, I'd - love to...do that."

Martin must be less sober than he'd thought, because this sounded bad, didn't it? He doesn't dare look at Jon, instead staring at the carpet between his feet. But then he hears Jon's laugh, and lifts his head to see the twinkle in his partner's eyes.

"I'll keep that in mind." Jon creeps closer again, tucking himself against Martin's side. Whispers, after a beat: "Thank you."

Martin smiles and kisses Jon's hair.


	2. my heart, indulging

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> dabs i had more projecting to do

Jon is dead sober, this time. It feels - wrong.

He understands perfectly why Martin would refuse to engage in anything of the sort with one or both of them inebriated, but  _ God _ what Jon wouldn't give for that fuzzy barrier between him and the world to be back, protecting him from the awkwardness and the second thoughts.

It feels - clinical. They're both fully clothed, sitting on opposite sides of the bed - Jon at the head, Martin at the foot. There are some condoms, a bottle of lube, and a thick silence between them. They won't meet each other's eyes.

"Okay, maybe that was a bad idea," Martin says, scrambling to retrieve the items sitting on the bed. "Let's, uh, let's forget about that. I just -"

"Martin -"

"I just, I thought it would be a good idea to be ready for anything, but obviously we don't have to do that tonight -"

"Martin."

"- or any night, really, it was, uh, presumptuous of me to assume -"

"Martin, please."

Jon leans over to grab Martin's wrist; their eyes finally meet. Martin is bright red, and Jon is keenly aware his own complexion echoes his.

"I - hmm." He clears his throat, looks away, looks back. "You're right, I don't think I'm ready for anything involving -" his gaze is drawn downward, to the scattered foil packets, "- that. But, hum, it doesn't mean I don't want to do anything. I'm ready to give - _ it  _ \- a try."

Martin chuckles. "You mean you're ready for something you won't even call by name?"

Jon lightly slaps his hand in mock offense. "Hey! I can perfectly talk about sex, alright! I just choose not to. It's crass."

"It's natural! Do you want to call it  _ making love _ instead?"

And just like that, the tension seeps away. They share a laugh; the cool undertones of the bedroom warm up, comfortable and cozy. Eventually, Jon crawls over to Martin's side of the bed and sits next to him, shoulder against shoulder.

"Thank you again. For your patience," he explains when Martin looks questioningly at him. "I'm sorry I'm making this so complicated."

"Don't worry." Martin takes his hand, squeezing it reassuringly. "I don't mind. Hey, if anything, it feels good that you're trusting me enough to even think about it."

Jon hums, a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. "I'm glad you feel that way."

Then, with a shaky breath, he tangles his fingers in the hair at the base of Martin's neck and pulls him toward him.

The kiss starts off sweet and slow, similar to so many kisses they've shared before; Jon doesn't particularly care for kissing, but he deeply enjoys the way it makes Martin relax against him, the contented smile he can feel against his lips. It's - nice.

God, he hopes the rest will be  _ nice _ , too.

Jon tentatively deepens the kiss. His thumb rubs mechanical circles on the skin behind Martin's ear while his heart beats hard and fast in his chest. His mind is racing, his thoughts a jumbled mess that don't waste time crystallizing into one familiar fear:  _ what if I hate it? _ He has accepted long ago that sex wasn't a thing he had any interest in. Discovering suddenly that he might potentially enjoy it with the right partner is making him doubt everything he thought he knew about himself.

But this isn't the time to have an identity crisis. This is supposed to be  _ enjoyable _ . He should enjoy himself.

Pulling himself away from both his doubts and Martin's mouth, he carelessly bats to the ground the items still laid out in front of them and sprawls on the bed. He feels a bit ridiculous, to be honest; the game of seduction is unfamiliar to him, and he has no idea what he should be doing with his arms, his legs, his  _ face. _

He takes a deep breath. This is for Martin; he's seen him in worst situations. This is fine.

In the end, he simply extends a hand, and says:

"Come here."

Martin doesn't need to be told twice. He takes Jon's outstretched hand, takes a moment to kiss the knuckles - and if that doesn't make Jon  _ melt _ \- then straddles him. He hesitates, then, says:

"Tell me when it gets too much."

Jon looks up at the man above him, the halo of hair around his head, the desire to please plain on his face. At this moment, he can't imagine things ever becoming  _ too much.  _ He places his hands atop Martin's thighs and smiles reassuringly.

"Of course. Now come down there."

Martin does so obligingly, dipping down to kiss Jon again. It is slow, unhurried, despite Jon's best effort to make it messy, and he lets out a frustrated groan.

"I'm not made of glass, Martin," he protests, muffled by the lips against his.

Martin chuckles. "Oh, so you think you can take it, big guy?"

"Stop making fun of me. Show me something interesting."

Martin hums, then moves on to focus on Jon's throat. He alternates between kisses and light bites in a way that makes Jon's heartbeat accelerate in a very interesting manner. Jon can't help but analyze how this all makes him feel: for now, it's - good. Very good, even, though he cannot pinpoint why. One of Martin's hands toys with the hem of his shirt for a moment, and even though Jon is prepared for what might follow, he still jumps when fingers come into contact with the skin of his stomach.

Martin freezes immediately.

"Not okay?" he asks. The rough quality of his voice makes shivers run down Jon's spine, and he shakes his head before remembering how words work.

"No, no, it's - it's fine. I was just - I'm not exactly used to - Just keep going. Please."

A sly smile appears on Martin's face. "I don't think I've ever heard you be so polite. If I had known it was all it took -"

Jon groans, and hides his face in his hands. "Shut up, Martin."

Martin laughs and kisses the corner of his jaw. "Where are your manners now?"

Jon is about to quip back, but Martin slips his hand under his shirt again at the same time; reflexively, Jon stops breathing. He squirms when fingers graze against his ribs, glide higher, trace patterns on his plexus.

"I didn't know you were ticklish," Martin chuckles. He's watching Jon's face, looking enraptured; his eyes are very dark.

Jon lets out a shaky breath that's not quite a laugh. "I'm not."

"Hmm." Martin looks pensive. His hand moves again, and the tip of his index brushes against one of Jon's nipples.

Jon  _ swears _ .

"Just sensitive, then," Martin murmurs. "Is that alright?"

Is it? Jon hesitates, then nods. Martin looks serious, suddenly. 

"I'd like to hear you say it. Jon, is that alright? Does it feel good?"

"God, Martin," Jon mutters. "Do you really need the praise? Yes, it feels good."

The smile is back on Martin's face. "Super. Just wanted to hear you say it."

It occurs to Jon, then, exactly how careful Martin is being with him; in any other circumstances, such attention would irritate him, but in this case - in this case, it makes him feel  _ loved. _

He doesn't have much time to dwell on those thoughts; Martin repeats his gesture - fingers caressing sensitive skin, delicate but alighting every nerve ending - and Jon shudders. His hands come up to bury in Martin's hair, and he's aware that he's babbling some sappy nonsense but can't bring himself to stop.

Martin says, "Let's get you out of this shirt, alright?" and Jon complies readily, letting Martin pull it over his head, taking his glasses in the same movement. They share a breathless laugh; somehow, Jon isn't feeling as nervous anymore. There's still an undercurrent of doubt, but the excitement and sheer  _ love _ he's also feeling have largely replaced the apprehension.

Jon lies back down, and Martin chases after him for one more perfect kiss. One of his hands is splayed against Jon's side, his thumb rubbing soothing circles in the flesh here; it feels possessive, in the best sense of the term. Jon  _ belongs. _

After a few more minutes of lazy kissing, Jon decides to take the initiative. He slides a leg up, presses his knee against Martin's groin; Martin's breath hitches in a very satisfying manner, and he lets out a surprised little  _ ah. _

"Good?" Jon asks, aiming for cocky and landing in hopeful.

Martin laughs, his face hidden in the crook of Jon's neck. "Tonight isn't about me, Jon."

"Hmm. Weird. I thought this was something that had to involve at least two people."

"I meant -"

"I know. I just think - pleasing you might be a good way to please me." 

Martin raises his head to wordlessly stare at Jon. Eventually, he seems to remember how to speak. "Okay. Okay, okay. We'll, uh, we'll have to talk about this later. I meant it, though. This is about you, Jon. And what you're comfortable with. Can I - hum. Can I touch you?"

The way he glances down leaves no doubt about what he means exactly; as suddenly as it had disappeared, the old terror is back, imprinting doubts at the back of his mind.

But he won't let it ruin the experience this time. Jon stops that train of thoughts short, nods. "I think - I think I'd like that, yes."

They exchange a smile, Martin's reassuring one managing to soothe Jon's anxiety somewhat. Martin kisses him slowly, deeply, as his hand drifts downward, unhurried. He stops at Jon's belt, pulls away.

"Can I take it off?"

Jon hesitates. "Maybe not - not tonight."

Martin kisses his cheek. "Of course. No problem. I'm sure I still can -"

Even through the layers of clothing, the first hint of pressure against his groin sends sparks up his spine. It's a strange feeling - not strictly  _ good, _ but not terrible either. He screws his eyes shut hard, focuses on his breathing.

"Jon?" Martin sounds worried.

He realises the picture he must be giving his partner, and he opens his eyes to give him a reassuring look.

"It's alright, keep going." Martin doesn't look convinced, so Jon explains: "I'm - not sure what to think of it yet. It's a  _ lot. _ "

Martin chuckles. "It really is."

He starts slowly rubbing Jon through his jeans, and again Jon feels like he might be about to catch fire; conflicting feelings battle for dominance in his head, pushing and pulling him in opposite directions - until, eventually, the one that starts triumphing is only pleasure. 

Martin is observing him very closely as he alternates between a slow pace and a faster one, varying pressure, murmuring praises. Jon has grabbed a fistful of bedsheets, just to feel grounded. There's heat building between his legs, pooling in his stomach, and he can feel it about to swallow him whole.

"That's it," Martin is saying. "You've got it. You're doing so good. Just let go, Jon."

And so he does. 

It sweeps through him like flames through a field of dry grass. He lets go of the sheets, closing his arms around Martin instead in a desperate, crushing hug.

His mind goes clear, then, for a moment; he feels peaceful. The quiet of the apartment is only troubled by the distant sound of late traffic and their own deep breaths.

Then Martin rolls off him, and Jon sighs.

"That was, uh - that was pretty nice."

Martin laughs. "Wow, this is exactly what you want to hear after sex."

"That's not what I meant and you know it," Jon mumbles, tucking himself against Martin and lacing their fingers together.

Martin drops a kiss on his forehead. "I know." A beat. "You, uh, you might want to clean up before crashing. This isn't going to feel good in the morning."

"Don't care." Jon takes off his glasses to blindly set them on the bedside table, and immediately nestles against Martin again. "Tired."

"You know what? That's fair." He feels another kiss pressed in his hair; Martin's free hand is combing through the locks. "Sleep well, Jon."

He still has much to think about - consider what this means for him, for them - but for now -

He's willing to let go.

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you enjoyed it! find me on [tumblr](https://kalgalen.tumblr.com/) or on [twitter](https://twitter.com/kalgalen) (or anywhere else) @ kalgalen!


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